Unmade Chapter 6: chapter 6: a dream?

Read chapter 6 of Unmade by churro on NovelPedia.

Vale stood before the chained man. Half-broken links of steel still clung to his body, clattering like shattered armor. Long, needle-like blades pierced his back and limbs, yet their metal remained stainless, as if they had never drawn a single drop of blood. At some point, the man had risen. He turned his head slowly, searching the bloody sea it surface. An obsidian mask covered his entire face; he shouldn’t have been able to see, yet Vale suspected he perceived the world through other means. 'What is he looking for?' Vale wondered, watching carefully. The man’s physique was powerful, built for speed as much as strength. Parts of his skin were missing, revealing raw muscle beneath. His pants were torn nearly to rags, yet they refused to fall apart, held together by some invisible force. Then the man moved again. He shook his head, as if disappointed. One hand rose to his mask, tilting slightly, imitating what looked like a deep, weary sigh. After a moment, he straightened his posture and brought both hands forward. He extended one arm and pointed directly at his chest, his heart, to be precise. The chained man paused. In that instant, Vale felt as if time itself slowed. With sudden, impossible speed, the man plunged his hand into his own chest, tearing through skin and cracking bone on the way to his heart. He hesitated, perhaps from pain, or perhaps from surprise, as bloodless seconds stretched thin. Then he moved again. With a sharp pull, he tore his hand free, leaving a gaping hole behind. His heart rested in his palm, yet he lifted his arm casually, almost nonchalantly, as if holding one’s own heart were the most natural thing in the world. There wasn’t the slightest flinch in the man’s movements; each motion carried cold, deliberate intent. He turned his masked face toward Vale, obsidian plating hiding any trace of expression, and then crushed his own heart in his fist. Vale’s eyes widened. Instead of bursting into mist or blood, the heart ignited, blazing into a pillar of pure light, as tall and slender as a great blade. The brilliance faded just as quickly, leaving behind a weapon forged from some pale, bone-like material. The man lowered his hand, and with it, the newly formed blade. He went still, frozen mid-breath, or so it seemed. With his face concealed, Vale couldn’t be certain of anything. The chained man lifted his head toward Vale once more and spoke. “Akte hist alebd!” His voice rang out aloud, resonant, filled with a determination Vale had never heard before. With a sweeping motion, the man hurled the bone-white blade toward him. The throw itself held no theatrics, yet there was something undeniably magnificent in the act. The blade struck the crimson sea at Vale’s feet, parting it cleanly. It remained upright, perfectly still, waiting to be claimed. Vale stared at it for several seconds, lost in thought. 'This man… he’s suffering. He ripped out his own heart and turned it into a weapon. And that language, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard.' His thoughts slowed, deliberate. A faint smile curved across Vale’s lips as he reached into the bloody water and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. “This dream is truly a magnificent one… isn’t it?” he murmured to himself, lifting the blade. Vale turned the blade over in his hands, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Its surface was a dark, bone-like color, every inch carved from solid osseous material. Despite its composition, the sword felt surprisingly light, yet the moment he gripped it, he sensed its durability. It was sturdy, unyielding, almost unnaturally tough. One side of the blade was honed to a razor edge, while the other remained blunt, as if meant for deflecting strikes rather than cutting. The weapon itself was on the shorter side. To Vale, it appeared to be a fusion between a tachi and a gladius, perfectly balanced for swift, precise motions in close quarters. Curious, he brushed his fingertip gently along the sharpened edge. Even the lightest touch slice